


A Night Out

by linndechir



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blood Drinking, Getting Together, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: Here he was, about to try and play an Ekon’s pet, and if he was quite honest, he had himself to blame for it as much as Reid. There was no way this wasn’t going to go wrong.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 15
Kudos: 162
Collections: Fic In A Box





	A Night Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hensday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hensday/gifts).



If anyone had told Geoffrey McCullum, leader of the Guard of Priwen, a year ago that he’d voluntarily walk into a manor full of leeches, with no weapons to speak of and none of his men watching his back, he would have laughed at them. Or, depending on who made that idiotic suggestion, frowned and simply left without a reply.

And yet here he was on a cold November evening. Dressed in thin silk that left too little to the imagination, his throat bare and unprotected, his only weapon a far too short knife strapped to his calf that he’d mostly taken for his own peace of mind and not because it would actually be of much use against an Ekon, on his way to walk into a goddamn leech party. 

At least he did have backup, of sorts. If another leech could be considered such.

The whole thing was a mistake, and he’d kept making those ever since he’d met Reid last year. Fine, the first mistake had been assuming Reid was behind the Skal epidemic and trying to kill him. Although it had still been Reid’s own fault for looking so bloody suspicious. And all of Geoffrey’s following mistakes had _definitely_ been Reid’s fault as well – Reid had stuck around, come to see Geoffrey repeatedly, somehow talked him into working together on occasion. Geoffrey never should have agreed to that. If he’d just told Reid off the first time the leech had shown up on his doorstep, if he’d simply told him that he was willing to co-exist with him in one city as long as he never had to see him again, then he wouldn’t be in this mess. He missed when the world had been simpler, neatly divided into leeches that needed killing and leeches that could be tolerated as long as they behaved.

“Ready?” Reid asked. He looked even more prim and proper than usual – white tie, every piece of clothing made from the finest fabrics and so beautifully tailored that even Geoffrey, who couldn’t care less about fashion, had to admit he looked good. Reid wore it well, too. Wore it like a man who’d grown up going to fancy dinner parties and conversing with the kind of people who made a face when they so much as saw Geoffrey, let alone heard him. That probably wasn’t far off from the truth, considering that Reid’s father had apparently been a _banker_. He’d fit right in, in more ways than one.

“No,” Geoffrey said, and even though he knew he was repeating himself, he added, “This is a stupid idea.”

“It was _your_ suggestion.”

Unfortunately, that was true as well. One of the many infuriating things about Reid was how often he was right, and then he had to be perfectly reasonable and polite about it. Geoffrey knew he should be glad the leech didn’t have a temper, when leeches with a temper were murderous bastards, but sometimes he wished Reid wasn’t so damn unflappable.

The problem was that this was already the second time Priwen was after this particular leech and his entourage. The last time they’d done things the way they always did – tracked them down and tried to kill them all right away, on account of said leeches murdering and draining a whole lot of innocent people, except for the ones they kept around as _pets_. But unfortunately this particular pack of them was more careful than Geoffrey was used to. More careful and somewhat smarter. A full frontal attack had led to them dispersing and disappearing off the face of the earth for two years, until they’d found their way back to London last month. 

Part of Geoffrey was a little offended that they’d assumed Priwen’s memory was so short, or maybe they’d – not incorrectly – hoped that the Skal epidemic had thinned Priwen’s ranks considerably. Far worse, though, and something Geoffrey didn’t want to think about, was how many people they must have killed in those two years. How many they’d mesmerised and used as … servants, or slaves, or worse. He couldn’t let them get away again, so clearly some new tactics were required. And since he had a new ally (he hated thinking of Reid that way, but calling him a weapon implied a degree of control that Geoffrey was very sure he didn’t have over the leech, no matter how polite and helpful he was), he might as well put him to use.

So he’d swallowed his pride and gone to Reid for help. Because Reid was a posh, rich, well-spoken Ekon, just like those murderous monsters, and he’d probably have a far easier time gathering some more intelligence on their various hideouts and defences than Geoffrey. But two people could find out more than one, and since this particular group of Ekons so liked their human _pets_ … well, that had been that. Geoffrey supposed it had been his idea, although the plan had certainly occurred to both of them during that conversation. 

Here he was, about to try and play an Ekon’s pet, and if he was quite honest, he had himself to blame for it as much as Reid. There was no way this wasn’t going to go wrong.

As they made their way inside, Geoffrey felt his skin crawl for more reasons than one. Even if he hadn’t been walking into a lion’s den, this was not the kind of party (or _soirée_ , since they were being fancy) he’d ever feel comfortable at. The main entrance hall, and by the looks of it the entire building, was lit with modern electrical lights, the floors were marble, medieval armours and weapons lined the corridors, and the walls were decorated with paintings and tapestries and vases that looked so expensive Geoffrey didn’t even want to know how many people one could have fed with just one of them. Stone-faced servants greeted them at the door – or more precisely they greeted _Reid_ – and Geoffrey could hear music from the large ball room. He supposed if he were rich, he’d want to spend his money on something enjoyable as well, but at the same time he’d never understood the need to show off quite that desperately how rich one was. Then again he could barely even imagine having this much money to begin with, not when he’d spent most of his life calculating how many bullets Priwen could buy and still have enough money left to feed every member.

His thoughts were interrupted when Reid put his hand on the small of his back, and through the silk shirt Geoffrey was wearing, his touch was freezing cold. Geoffrey felt ridiculous in his outfit, but he at least had to try to look the part. Not that he’d ever look like someone’s catamite, but he’d shaved neatly and let his hair grow out a little at the sides over the past weeks, and he’d allowed Reid to buy him some clothes that were apparently more appropriate for an Ekon’s _pet_. Soft, embroidered silks in a rich navy blue – he’d put his foot down about any garish colours or anything that revealed more of his body than his neck and collarbones, which was really bad enough. It wasn’t even that he looked bad, he probably looked better than he ever had before in his life. But it made him feel ridiculous.

Instinctively he wanted to snap at Reid for touching him, but a warning look out of those red eyes stopped him short. As they stepped into the main hall, Geoffrey realised that Reid’s touch wasn’t so much tender (the last thing he needed was the leech trying to reassure him) as possessive. Staking a claim. Because they were being eyed quite curiously as they went inside.

At a guess, Geoffrey would have thought there were maybe a dozen leeches spread out through the hall. More men than women, all of them looking every bit as filthy rich and posh as Reid did by his side, all of them watching the new arrivals curiously. Everybody had heard of Reid, after all, unless they had managed to live entirely under a rock. A recently turned Ekon with such power couldn’t go unnoticed, and the fact that Reid had shown very little interest in ingratiating himself in leech society after his disastrous experiences at the Ascalon Club had only made them _more_ interested in him. It wasn’t a coincidence that Reid hadn’t had the slightest difficulty securing an invitation for this evening.

As far as Geoffrey knew, none of the leeches in this little band were exceptionally strong. Rich, well-connected, dangerous like all leeches were, sure, but in terms of raw power, they couldn’t hold a candle to Reid or even to a fair number of other Ekons Geoffrey had hunted with more success over the years. But they were still Ekons, and even a dozen Skals could pose a problem for a seasoned hunter if they attacked together. Especially without any weapons to speak of.

There were maybe twice as many humans in the room as Ekons. Most of them were quite young, barely over twenty (though Geoffrey was relieved there weren’t any children among them – nothing he hadn’t seen before in a leech’s lair), exquisitely beautiful girls in too revealing dresses, the kind of pretty youths who could have passed for girls if they’d been dressed differently, but also a few young men who were as chiselled as the marble statues in the hallway, and showing it off in clothes that made Geoffrey feel downright decent in his. Only two of the men were a bit older, around Geoffrey’s age, though even they made him feel quite plain. Most Ekons liked to surround themselves with pretty things, and that extended to the humans they kept for blood – and probably other things. 

None of them looked to be in immediate danger, although quite a few were far paler than looked healthy, and Geoffrey spied some half-healed bite marks here and there. They didn’t seem particularly unhappy or frightened, but that meant nothing at all. They could be mesmerised, or simply bought by the promise of riches and comfort. Enough people had no idea just what exactly they agreed to when they followed a leech home. As hard as it would be for him not to try and kill every leech that looked at him the wrong way, it might be even harder not to try and convince all those fools to get away while they still could.

“Dr Reid, so kind of you to join us tonight. I had almost given up hope that I’d ever get to make your illustrious acquaintance,” said a smooth voice that had appeared far too quickly in front of them. A leech, red eyes and skin that should have been much paler, but then nobody here seemed to deny themselves in the slightest. He’d been middle-aged when he was turned, with a rather average-looking, weak-chinned face and thick brown hair. He was shorter than Reid and had to look up at him as they shook hands, and Geoffrey took some petty pleasure in someone else looking as irritated by that as he always felt.

“I appreciate the invitation,” Reid replied, and if Geoffrey had thought he sounded like a posh fuck the rest of the time, he hadn’t known that Reid could apparently dial it up even more. He fit in so very easily, an uncomfortable reminder that all that stood between Reid and becoming just like the monsters Geoffrey was hunting was not any threat Geoffrey or Priwen could pose, but his own damned decency. 

Which was not something their conversation partner possessed. Geoffrey was quite glad Henry Arlington had never actually seen him two years ago when Priwen had rattled his cage, because now his eyes only slid over Geoffrey with mild interest. A predator sizing up a potential snack, but not one it found particularly appetising at first glance.

“And you brought a guest, how delightful,” the leech went on, his gaze catching on Geoffrey’s throat. Geoffrey had to pull himself together not to touch it – having it bared never felt comfortable to him, and certainly not while someone was _looking at his pulse_. Not merely his pulse point, no, but no doubt looking through his skin at his blood flow. Reid’s arm slid a bit more tightly around Geoffrey’s waist, and the look on his face wasn’t any less predatory for a moment – a hunter defending his kill, and the very idea sickened Geoffrey to the core. Arlington smiled a fanged smile and looked back at Reid.

“If I’d known of your tastes, I would have provided some more suitable entertainment for you when I picked the decorations for tonight … You like them a bit rough, do you?”

A very vivid image crossed Geoffrey’s mind of a cross burnt right into that smug smile and he busied himself with studying the room instead. The various exits, corridors leading to other parts of the building, which doors the servants went in or came out of. The house seemed quite open, with several rooms beyond the main ball room illuminated and welcoming guests, and Geoffrey made a note to himself to snoop around a bit once they weren’t being watched quite so intently anymore.

“In my experience, the rough ones can take more,” Reid said next to him and Geoffrey had to bite his tongue to suppress the sound he almost made. Because Reid had made it sound _filthy_ , rather than like he was just talking about all the enjoyable ways in which he could torture Geoffrey. Which didn’t seem like it should be preferable, but somehow it was. That low, almost growling tone in Reid’s voice was … distracting. He did have a pleasant voice, it wasn’t as if Geoffrey had never noticed that before. He just didn’t say things like that most of the time.

“Oh, you are quite right about that!” Arlington laughed politely as if that had been the most charming thing he’d ever heard in his life, and after a few more bland pleasantries he excused himself to greet the next guest. 

The excitement about their arrival ebbed quickly enough – the Ekons went back to their conversations with each other, or to petting the humans kneeling at their feet like dogs, at least those that weren’t standing apart and talking among themselves. Some of the guests wandered off into the smaller rooms again for more private conversations, a few more spilt out onto the balcony for some fresh air.

Reid guided him – led him, really – to a side of the room, and Geoffrey turned to face him before Reid got it into his head to manhandle him even more. He wouldn’t have admitted it in a million years, but there was something reassuring about looking up at him. Those damned red eyes that made it very clear he’d killed before, the waxen pallor of his skin that reassured Geoffrey he didn’t do it regularly. When surrounded by this many leeches he very much didn’t trust, it was easy to remember that Reid had been … well, trustworthy. Reliable. He wasn’t always pleasant, but he’d helped Geoffrey every single time he’d asked for it, whether it was for a hunt or to stitch up Geoffrey or one of his men. He didn’t even rub in the fact that he’d thoroughly defeated Geoffrey, or that Geoffrey had tried to kill him to begin with. 

Reid looked like he wanted to say something, probably something stupid and reassuring, and Geoffrey knew they couldn’t risk it. These leeches might not be as powerful as Reid was, but their hearing was probably too good to risk any suspicious discussions. Geoffrey cupped Reid’s chin, tugged lightly on his beard and pulled him down as if to kiss him (that was clearly something Reid had implied he did with his _pet_ , so Geoffrey might as well make the most of it), and the look on Reid’s face at that was almost more satisfying than getting him to think before he spoke. If Geoffrey was meant to be his bit of rough, he might as well be cheeky instead of grovelling like most of the humans in the room.

Reid stared at him for a moment, and then slowly retracted his hand from Geoffrey’s waist. In return, Geoffrey let go of his beard.

“Well, go and – entertain yourself. I have people to talk to,” Reid said in that same arrogant, condescending tone as before, and whatever Geoffrey had wanted to do just a moment ago was replaced by a very strong urge to punch him. Even if it was all a façade, he didn’t like being dismissed like a child that wasn’t fit to sit at the adults’ table. But he swallowed his pride and only inclined his head in what he hoped was a suitably deferential way, and decided to have a look around. They were here to gather information, after all.

* * *

After half an hour in this place, he _really_ wanted a drink. It was sickening, the way those leeches were behaving, and what made it even worse was how utterly safe they clearly felt. As if they owned London. As if they had nothing to fear here, as if they had not the slightest doubt that nobody would come and stop them. Geoffrey readily admitted that Priwen hadn’t done the best job the last time they’d come after these bastards, but still, they were usually more feared than this. He’d make damn sure every last leech in England would hear about this when he was done with Arlington and his ilk. Leeches that weren’t afraid were a danger to everyone.

Occasionally he glanced over at Reid, but he was too far away to hear what he and the leeches he spoke to were saying. Judging by the looks of it, it was idle prattle – polite, friendly, the occasional bits of amicable laughter. Surely Reid was telling them how much he regretted not finding time to meet them all earlier and how much he looked forward to changing that now. Geoffrey only hoped he wouldn’t really get a taste for all this, but then he’d so easily resisted the temptations of the Ascalon Club, and compared to their very real power and influence, this little group here was like a group of children playing dress up.

Still, his mood would have been significantly lifted by some whiskey burning down his throat. He could have easily had some – the servants readily provided drinks and quite delicious looking canapés to the human guests. But he felt vulnerable enough without dulling his senses. He needed to stay sharp.

When he couldn’t quite bear it anymore, he let himself into one of the smaller rooms. He didn’t expect to find any useful information in a harmless little sitting room, but it’d do him some good to breathe for a minute without anyone staring at him.

He’d only just sat down when a movement by the door caught his eye, but at least it wasn’t a damn leech cornering him here. Before him stood one of the young men he’d noticed earlier – the kind of face that would make a painter weep in inspiration, the flawless skin and soft hands of someone who’d never worked a day in his life. He was dressed in red silks that clung to his body in various places when he moved, each one more distracting than the other. If Geoffrey had been in a less bad mood, he might have stared for a few moments too long. The kind of places he frequented when he desired _company_ never had that kind of breathtaking beauty on offer. Even if they did, Geoffrey wouldn’t have been able to afford it. As it was, he just frowned.

“So you’re this Dr Reid’s pet,” the young man started the conversation, and whatever good will Geoffrey had had towards him evaporated. He sounded as posh as Reid and three times as snooty – probably some idiot noble’s idiot brat who’d decided to run off with a leech because it sounded exciting. Geoffrey had always had a hard time feeling particularly sorry for those, as opposed to the poor, starving bastards who were easily lured away from their miserable lives by the promise of wealth and comfort.

There really was no good reply to that – denying it would probably have led to some condescending smugness, but Geoffrey was sure as hell not going to agree with that assessment – but fortunately a reply didn’t seem to be expected. The young man sprawled down on the other couch like he owned it, stretching out his long legs and propping his chin up in his pretty, manicured hand.

“He’s all everyone talks about. How powerful he supposedly is,” the young man went on. “I have a hard time believing it. If he was so powerful, why isn’t he running this city? Working as a doctor, really? I suppose it’s a convenient way to access blood, but still …”

Geoffrey tried hard not to grit his teeth and was most of all surprised by his sudden urge to defend Reid’s honour – whatever else one could say about the leech, he certainly took his work seriously. He worked at the hospital every night because he actually cared about helping people. And he did _not_ drink from his patients. Geoffrey had watched him for weeks until he’d been sufficiently convinced of that.

“Do you think there’s any one l- Ekon running this city?” Geoffrey asked instead. He didn’t even try to smooth out his accent. He’d never fool anyone that he belonged here anyway, and he was fine with people underestimating him because they thought he was just an uneducated Irish lout.

“Well, _Henry_ will soon.” The boy emphasised the familiarity of using that first name as if he wanted to show off, as if he wanted to make sure Geoffrey knew how important he was. It was hard not to scoff at that. Sure, some leeches became fond of their pets, the way some humans did of their dogs, but at the end of the day they were replaceable. You might miss your favourite pet, but most people still got themselves a new one soon after. The world was full of pretty things, after all.

“Is that so?” Geoffrey didn’t try to keep the disdain out of his voice. Arlington was still fairly young himself, and from what Geoffrey had heard, his blood was thin enough that Geoffrey would easily wipe the floor with him in a straightforward fight. Up against _Reid_? It’d be a bloodbath Geoffrey wouldn’t mind watching. “I suppose he might. If Jonathan lets him.”

The leech’s first name felt weird in his mouth – it didn’t even feel rude calling him that, just strange. They weren’t friends. They definitely weren’t whatever they were pretending to be here. The fact that Reid occasionally called him _Geoffrey_ as if he had any right to it didn’t do anything to make Geoffrey more inclined to use his first name. But calling him “Reid” to this brat’s face probably would have come across as disrespectful, and “Dr Reid” as far more deferential than Geoffrey had any intention of pretending to be.

The young man laughed in a way that made Geoffrey want to punch him even more than he’d wanted to punch Reid earlier tonight, which was saying something.

“I believe you underestimate just how powerful Henry is. The things I’ve seen him do … you couldn’t even imagine them.”

Oh, definitely no sympathy for him then, if he knew just what kind of a monster he served and still did it willingly. Geoffrey felt irritated enough by that pompous sod that he could barely even be amused by the idea that _he_ couldn’t imagine the things a leech was capable of.

“If they ever decide to have it out over who has the better tailor or whatnot, give me a heads up so I can watch. It wouldn’t go the way you imagine it.”

Geoffrey couldn’t believe he was … defending the leech. His leech. He wasn’t going to defend Reid’s honour and decency, because that clearly didn’t matter to the sort of people at this party, but he at least wasn’t going to let them believe Reid’s reputation was nothing but hot air. Leeches were predators. They could smell weakness, and if they thought Reid was weak, then that put Geoffrey in at least as much danger right now. So he wasn’t defending him so much as defending himself, really. 

The young man bristled at that – Geoffrey only realised now that he’d never bothered to introduce himself, but then men like that did not introduce themselves to men like Geoffrey, apparently not even if they were at the same party. He straightened up from his lounging position, a flush of heat going into his pale cheeks that impossibly made him even prettier, and looked like he was just about to start lecturing Geoffrey when he closed his mouth again.

Geoffrey _felt_ something move behind him, and it took all his restraint not to snap around, pull his blade and bury it in whatever body part was nearest. He was Reid’s _pet_ , after all, not a hunter. But that was a leech behind him, had to be, because no human could have moved so fast they simply appeared behind him.

Geoffrey turned his head with deliberate slowness just as Arlington’s voice behind him addressed the young man, “Now, now, my sweet, there’s no need for any unpleasantness. We’re all friends here.”

The boy deflated like a popped balloon and sank back into the chaise longue, pouting like a thwarted child. Geoffrey turned a bit further, and hated that he had to look up at that damned leech now. 

“Aren’t we?” Arlington added, addressing Geoffrey. He reached out for him, and Geoffrey’s mind was racing in something that wasn’t panic, but the most profound discomfort he’d ever felt. It was one thing to hunt beasts, to fight and kill them, and another to put one’s hand between their maws and hope that they were tame enough not to bite. Goosebumps went down his spine and his whole body shivered in disgust when Arlington ran his fingertips over Geoffrey’s cheek – a light touch, cool but not icy-cold, but the unwelcome intimacy of it burnt through Geoffrey’s nerves worse than any pain would have.

“I do find you intriguing – I wouldn’t have assumed our good friend Dr Reid to have such an unsophisticated palate, but I’m sure he has his reasons. Maybe there is a certain … wild, unrefined aroma to men like you, something worth trying out.” His touch turned firmer, then he pushed Geoffrey’s head a little to the side, his gaze greedily going to Geoffrey’s neck. Watching as his pulse accelerated, as his heart beat faster, and at this point panic was starting to settle low in his gut. Letting some leech drink from him had never been part of their already terrible plan. He’d gone through almost two decades of hunting without getting his neck bitten, he wasn’t going to change that now by _letting_ some leech try him out like this was a fucking wine tasting. Maybe he could try to talk himself out of it, but in his experience, men like Arlington weren’t in the habit of ever heading a no, certainly not coming from someone they considered their inferior.

Arlington was focused enough on his neck that he didn’t notice the movement of Geoffrey’s hand towards his leg, groping for the comforting weight of his knife. It was short, too short for his liking, but Geoffrey was good with blades, he was fast, and Arlington wasn’t a fighter. He wouldn’t see an attack coming, not from someone he’d dismissed so readily as harmless. One on one, Geoffrey could take him, and he’d just have to worry about where to go from there after that –

A second hand touched him, settling heavily on his shoulder, this one freezing through the thin fabric of his shirt. Geoffrey caught a whiff of Reid’s cologne, that subtle, woody scent one needed to be quite close to him to smell at all – Geoffrey remembered it from all the times he’d got in Reid’s face or Reid in his, when they’d argued or when Reid had leant in close to clean and stitch his wounds. It smelt more natural than a leech should, but Geoffrey had found that he quite liked it. Right now, it might as well have been the most beautiful scent in the world.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t touch my property,” Reid said behind him, in a tone so cold it sent another shiver down Geoffrey’s spine. He sounded – terrifying was the right word, no doubt, and it was an odd feeling to hear a leech sound so much like any hunter’s nightmares and be comforted by it. To know that terrifying force of destruction was on his side. It almost made up for the indignity of having to be protected, or being called _property_.

For a moment Arlington held Reid’s gaze, as if he truly considered denying him, but he clearly had more brains than his little toy boy. With a smile so false it could have belonged to any politician, he inclined his head just a fraction and let go of Geoffrey’s chin. The echo of his touch lingered, and this time Geoffrey didn’t resist the urge to rub over his chin with the back of his hand like he had to wipe off some dirt. He’d never had a leech _pet him_.

Reid’s touch was still heavy and possessive on his shoulder, and he didn’t seem inclined to move just because Arlington had let go.

“Apologies,” Arlington said blandly. “A lot of us here share with our friends, and you were right, there is something _delectable_ about his strength.”

Geoffrey bristled at that – that fucking _tone_ , like he wasn’t even there – but Reid squeezed his shoulder and kept him still. 

“If I’d been aware of that assumption, I would have corrected it earlier,” Reid said primly. His touch was so heavy, his body like a solid wall behind Geoffrey. He didn’t _need_ Reid protecting him, he could have handled this pompous prick on his own. But for a moment he felt a kind of heady thrill that almost made him understand why someone would be stupid enough to become a leech’s “property”.

“He does look oddly untouched,” Arlington said in a conversational tone that got Geoffrey’s hackles up again, and he felt a shift in Reid’s body. Arlington was many things, but unfortunately not entirely stupid. Geoffrey already didn’t look much like anyone’s idea of a leech’s pet. Not pretty enough, not soft enough, and certainly not like anyone regularly snacked on his blood.

“Because I don’t mark him up like a child that doesn’t know how to play with his toys?” Geoffrey could imagine the sneer on Reid’s face, an expression that showed up on his features surprisingly seldom for a man that powerful and that rich. What he could not have imagined, let alone expected, was Reid’s second hand suddenly touching him, pushing his head to the side with insulting ease, and then scratching hard over the side of his neck. His fingernails weren’t that sharp, but there was enough forced behind the touch that one of them broke Geoffrey’s skin easily. Again Reid’s hand on his shoulder kept him from jumping up and killing them _both_ this time, and he hoped to hell that Reid knew what he was doing when Arlington’s nostrils flared at the scent of blood.

Reid’s left hand was so cold on his neck, keeping it bent as he leant down and – licked over Geoffrey’s skin. It felt … it didn’t feel as unpleasant as it should have. It wasn’t a broad lick, just the tip of Reid’s tongue retracing the narrow little scratch his nail had left. He couldn’t have tasted more than a drop of blood, but Geoffrey suddenly felt quite light-headed, as if he’d lost far more than what little Reid was tasting of him. 

If he’d never let a leech pet him before, he certainly had never ever allowed a leech to _drink_ from him. It felt as absurdly intimate as Arlington’s touch had – more so with the light rasp of Reid’s beard against his neck and his cool breath soothing the marred skin and the certainty that if Reid did decide to bite down now, Geoffrey wouldn’t have been able to react fast enough to stop him. He should have been terrified in that moment, and furious at Reid, but he found that he was neither. He wasn’t afraid that Reid would bite him. And worse, a part of him almost liked having the leech’s mouth on his neck.

It was over just a few fast heartbeats after it had begun. Reid straightened up again, licked his lips when Geoffrey glanced up at him for a moment, and then smiled at Arlington.

“He’s mine. Even if I don’t maul him.” The smile on Reid’s face turned entirely too predatory for Geoffrey’s liking, and even though he was quite aware that a leech’s fangs were the same length all the time and didn’t lengthen when they drank, they certainly _looked_ bigger at this particular angle. “At least not in places you can see.”

“Point very well taken, my friend,” Arlington said icily, though his gaze lingered on Geoffrey’s neck – his _bloodied_ neck, dammit – for a moment longer before he tore himself away. With a slight nod he turned to leave the room, followed by his blissfully silent plaything. Geoffrey didn’t relax until he couldn’t hear their steps anymore, and Reid – who could hear them quite a bit further – only let go of his shoulder when Geoffrey tried to shrug off his hand.

“Was that necessary?” Geoffrey hissed at him, and even though he’d kept his voice down, he still had the wherewithal to add, “In public?”

As if this was something they did – Reid touching him like that, Reid tasting him at all, when he’d always refrained from doing so even while patching him up. Reid licking over his neck. As if the only thing that bothered Geoffrey right now was this open display of possessiveness that had hurt his pride.

Suddenly the room felt far too small for himself and the leech – even this particular leech, who wasn’t the worst of them, who still wasn’t attacking and trying to drain him even though he had the taste of Geoffrey’s blood on his tongue, who if anything looked a little embarrassed by their current situation. Geoffrey got to his feet, but that only brought him closer to the cold solidity of Reid’s body, encased in his fine tailoring even as Geoffrey felt painfully exposed. But he didn’t move further away, stayed right where he was and looked up into Reid’s eyes, suddenly far more aware of the redness around his blue irides.

“I thought it prudent to make a point, or would you prefer that sort of thing happening throughout the evening?” Reid replied just as quietly, and as usual Geoffrey only hated him more when he was right. If they’d been anywhere else, he would have reminded Reid not to get any ideas, but he couldn’t here and now, not even when Reid’s eyes lingered on his scratched neck for a moment. He didn’t look hungry then, not like an animal eyeing up its prey. He looked like there was something else he wanted far more than that. Geoffrey touched his own neck, tried not to think about the sensation of Reid’s beard against his overly sensitive skin.

“No, but making me bleed might not have the intended effect,” he grumbled. He just had to hope that the leeches here were far more afraid of Reid than they were tempted by a forbidden fruit, and how strange it was to think of himself that way. He’d never thought he was particularly appealing to anyone, least of all leeches.

“It’s just a scratch, far less than any other human in this place has,” Reid said. Geoffrey refrained from pointing out that Reid couldn’t take his eyes off said scratch, that he could no doubt still taste and smell Geoffrey's blood and would be able to even if they weren’t standing so close. 

The silence that followed felt awkward – any of the things they might have wanted to say were not things they could risk being overheard, and in a way Geoffrey was glad for it. He didn’t want Reid asking him if he was all right, or if he was angry at him. Of course he was angry, though unfortunately not half as angry as he should have been.

After a moment, Reid busied himself with his cufflinks, adjusted them even though they already looked as perfect as everything else about him, and mumbled something under his breath before he turned to leave. They both still had to snoop around a bit, after all. Talk to people. Find out just how many leeches were part of this little circle. It was by far the worst time to get distracted by that look in Reid’s eyes or the sensation of his beard or the heaviness of his touch. Geoffrey had plenty of time to focus on not thinking about that once they made it out of here alive.

* * *

It took Jonathan a frustratingly long time to disentangle himself from yet another superficial conversation he’d been drawn into. He hadn’t been at this kind of party since before the war, his brief visits at the Ascalon Club excluded, and he hadn’t always enjoyed them even back then. At least before the war he’d felt somewhat involved in the lives of the people around him, had chatted with friends and distant relatives, had even enjoyed catching up on gossip occasionally, but he had no intention of becoming friends with any of the people here and no interest in their lives beyond what he needed to find out. And whereas the small talk before the war had usually involved some mild interest in his work and his research, something Jonathan was always very happy to talk about (and much preferred to yet another pointed question about why he wasn’t married yet, and if he would like an introduction to someone’s daughter or cousin or niece …), the conversations here turned far too often towards more tasteless subjects. Like the best ways to find people to kill that wouldn’t be missed, and the best approach to training one’s “pets” – whether violence or manipulation were the way to go. Much like at the Ascalon Club, Jonathan found it hard to blame McCullum for his unflattering opinion of his kind. If this was what the majority of Ekons were like, Reid couldn’t be all too sad that Priwen existed, even if he didn’t always agree with their methods.

When he finally managed to slip away, it took him no time at all to get past the locked doors between the public part of the manor and the private wing. Sometimes it did exhilarate him, how easy his powers made these things – though the thought of those same powers in the hands of someone like Henry Arlington was far less comfortable. Jonathan found the man’s study quickly enough and in it a wealth of letters and notes. He only had time to skim them, but judging by the invitations and correspondence, most of Arlington’s circle was here tonight. They were all people Jonathan and Geoffrey had spoken to, whose faces they would remember. It would be far harder to slip away from Priwen when they knew exactly who they were looking for – and where, Jonathan thought as he pocketed a few envelopes with addresses. He didn’t expect McCullum to thank him, at least not in words. He knew the man well enough by now to read the variety of growls and glares he spared Jonathan. The way he ducked his head when he was grateful, but didn’t quite manage to bite out the words “thank you”. The way the corners of his mouth would twitch when he was trying not to smile. It was almost endearing, how hard he was trying to pretend that they were still enemies who barely tolerated each other.

Jonathan licked his lips. If they merely _tolerated_ each other, McCullum would never have allowed Jonathan to touch him the way he had in that parlour. Jonathan certainly wouldn’t even have tried it. But McCullum, for all his bluster and his glares, trusted him. He’d dragged himself to Jonathan’s house one morning a few months ago, bleeding so profusely that he’d almost passed out when Jonathan all but carried him up the stairs. He’d asked Jonathan to watch his back a handful of times, while facing opponents he didn’t think his men could handle. He’d followed Jonathan to this soirée, knowing fully well that he would depend on him for protection. Jonathan didn’t need thank yous from a man who expressed his trust in such dramatic ways.

It had been hard enough to gain it – to convince McCullum time and time again that he didn’t turn into a monster the moment he wasn’t being watched, and most of all to resist the temptation to taste his blood whenever he took care of his wounds. It was easier with most of his patients – whether because they were strangers or because Jonathan treated them in the sterile environment of the hospital. But McCullum insisted on coming up to Jonathan’s office or even his home that one time, and there was nothing professional about the way they spoke to each other. There was nothing professional about all the ways in which Jonathan wanted to touch him, and he didn’t quite manage scientific, curious detachment once he realised that his interest in the man apparently went hand in hand with his blood smelling absolutely intoxicating.

Maybe he had taken advantage of the situation to get a taste of it. To find out if it tasted as good as it smelt, and good heavens, it did. He’d been trying to chase the taste on his lips ever since he’d stepped out of that room.

He’d been about to start opening drawers in the hopes to find out more when something caught his attention at the very edge of his hearing – a loud clatter, then a thump. Maybe it was nothing – a servant who had dropped a tray, a human guest who’d had a bit too much drink (or who’d been used as a drink too frequently) and had stumbled to the ground. But ‘maybe’ wasn’t good enough when he’d left McCullum behind in a house full of rather shameless, greedy Ekons, one of whom had already expressed far too much interest in him. 

Jonathan didn’t waste any time trying to cover the traces of his search, just blended into the shadows to hurry towards the sounds as quickly as possible. They led him to a little, darkened back room near the locked door that led to the private wing, and Jonathan arrived in time with another Ekon – one of the few women, a tall, severe lady with bloodshot eyes – who’d apparently heard the commotion as well. 

Before he could see what happened, the overwhelming scent of blood filled his nose. Human blood ( _Geoffrey’s blood_ , that dark, delicious scent Jonathan doubted he’d ever be able to forget), but it was only a faint whiff underneath all the Ekon blood Jonathan saw spilt over the floor when he stepped inside. McCullum stood over Arlington’s body, in his hand an old-fashioned sabre he must have liberated from the grip of one of the old knight armours that decorated the room. In a less dire situation, Jonathan would have smiled about the sheer stupidity of any man who had willingly led Geoffrey McCullum near half a dozen sharp blades. The man was deadly with a sword.

He looked unharmed, or at least not seriously injured, one strand of hair sticking sweat-slick to his face and the look in his eyes wild and angry. Jonathan didn’t have time to say anything before the lady beside him roared in fury and what seemed to be genuine distress and threw herself at McCullum, her fingers extending into blackened claws.

She never managed to lay a finger on him. Jonathan shifted between them in the blink of an eye, caught her arms easily without having to extend any claws of his own – he hated doing that, transforming his body into something even more inhuman than it already was. It took what little strength he had after not feeding for an entire week to get a hold of the warm blood pulsing through her body – fresh and recently acquired – so he could rip it out of her, draining her as easily as he would have with his teeth. A messy, rather disgusting process, but he would need his strength. McCullum hadn’t exactly been _quiet_ , neither had the now dead Ekon, and Jonathan had been very thoroughly convinced of the need not to let these particular _leeches_ escape a second time.

By the time they were done, the beautiful ball room had been turned into a bloodbath. Only one of the Ekons had been smart enough to run when Jonathan and McCullum had started tearing through their ranks, the rest lay about in various states of dismemberment and bloodlessness. Apparently their efficient retreat last time had been entirely Arlington’s doing, and without his leadership, they’d simply fought back like cornered animals. Or maybe they had foolishly assumed that two men attacking them couldn’t possibly pose the same kind of threat as Priwen’s full might. The servants and musicians had been much smarter and disappeared immediately, as had some of the Ekons’ _pets_. The others cowered in fear in the corners of the room, and in truth Jonathan couldn’t quite blame them for it.

McCullum stood by his side, his knife in the left hand and in his right a larger sword he’d found on one of the walls of the main hall. Both blades were dripping with blood. His silk shirt was torn in several places and he was bleeding from his shoulder, but he still looked ready to kill anything that stepped in his way. Jonathan had seen too much war to be impressed by that look in a man’s eyes, but he couldn’t help but admire McCullum’s fearless determination and his skill.

In hindsight, Jonathan thought they should have checked on those humans – even if they were not injured, this must have been a traumatising sight, and Jonathan did tell himself he would seek them out tomorrow night to make sure they all had somewhere to go without their masters’ “patronage”. While some of them had seemed to come from good families and probably had a place to return to, he doubted that all of them did. But for the time being, he mostly cared that McCullum was injured and that they needed to get out of here sooner rather than later.

McCullum seemed to have had the same thought, and as they slipped out of one of the back entrances of the manor, a brief, savage smile flitted over his features. Jonathan wasn’t going to shed a tear over any of the Ekons who’d died here tonight, but he did sometimes think that McCullum enjoyed killing them a little too much.

“I told you this wouldn’t go well,” McCullum said, as if the worst thing that had happened tonight had been a bit of a social faux-pas. It wasn’t even a little bit funny, but Jonathan still found himself smiling in return.

“Would you care to explain why you skewered our host, as unpleasant as he was?” 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Reid. You knew I was planning to skewer him sooner or later anyway.” McCullum’s features darkened. It was cold outside and fortunately a very dark, cloudy night. They probably should have picked up a pair of coats – both to cover the blood and against the chill in McCullum’s case. But it wasn’t too far to Reid’s home, and they both knew their share of dark alleyways where nobody would see them at three in the morning.

“Unsurprisingly, when you tell someone like that no, he only wants it more,” McCullum went on. “You weren’t around to play the possessive leech lord, and I wasn’t going to let that scum bite me.”

Jonathan remembered all too well how Arlington had eyed McCullum up, like a particularly juicy steak. He only hoped he himself never looked like that when he got … distracted. They set a brisk pace, and McCullum fortunately didn’t make a fuss about coming along. In return, Jonathan didn’t comment on the fact that he was shivering in the cold. For a man who hated “leeches” so much, he certainly seemed to take any comment on his humanity and the weaknesses it entailed as a personal attack.

“I can’t entirely blame you for that.” Jonathan sighed. “Don’t worry. Before you went on a killing spree, I found out that most of our host’s friends were present. And we did get most of them – apparently their leader was the only one with the good sense to run instead of fight, and you didn’t give him a chance to do that.”

“So we’re calling this a success?” Again that almost giddy grin on McCullum’s features – he did look like that sometimes after a successful hunt, and it really should have felt tasteless rather than infectious.

“It successfully convinced me not to take you to any more parties, McCullum,” Jonathan said, as if he still went to many parties these days and as if he was ever going to take McCullum along. It was a somewhat amusing thought, imagining McCullum meeting his former social circle and scandalising all of them – a different kind of ruined party than one that ended with a dozen corpses.

They fell into a comfortable silence on the way to Jonathan’s house. At the door McCullum hesitated, as if he’d finally realised where they were going and was trying to remember all the reasons why he shouldn’t follow Jonathan inside. Jonathan was not in the mood to have a lengthy argument while standing blood-soaked in front of his own house. He didn’t need his neighbours gossiping even more about his strange behaviour.

“You’re wounded and this is closer than the hospital.” He didn’t add that McCullum looked like he was freezing at this point, both strong arms wrapped tightly around himself. “And you are bound to get arrested if you keep walking around like that.”

That seemed to convince McCullum – or at least give him the excuse he’d been looking for – and he followed Jonathan inside quietly. Avery was in bed, even though he’d become somewhat more nocturnal as well since Jonathan’s return, and fortunately his hearing these days wasn’t so good anymore that any slight creak on the floorboards woke him. They both left their bloodied shoes by the door and sneaked up the old stairs, where Jonathan headed immediately to the bathroom to draw a bath for McCullum. When he looked up, McCullum was standing in the doorway, watching him with a slight frown.

“You’re filthy. And cold. I’ll wash up a little in the meantime, then stitch up your wounds when you’re done.” And because McCullum hated being told what to do, Jonathan added with a slight smile, “Is that acceptable?”

“Fine,” McCullum said grudgingly, but in truth he looked quite relieved. For the first time, Jonathan wondered just how much his men knew about where exactly McCullum was tonight – if he’d told them about his plan, and how many details of it. On the one hand, McCullum had spent months making sure that Jonathan always knew that his people knew exactly where he was and would readily show up with pitchforks and flamethrowers if anything happened to him. On the other hand, Jonathan couldn’t imagine that he’d been eager to share this particular plan with them.

There was something strangely intimate about McCullum stepping into his bathroom – an odd kind of domesticity he never would have expected to share with a man who’d tried to murder him, even more so than when he’d let McCullum into his study to patch him up. Up close he looked pale now, most likely from exhaustion rather than blood loss; only his cheeks were red and blotchy from the cold and still so smooth Jonathan was more than a little tempted to reach out and touch them. McCullum watched him just as intently, and not for the first time Jonathan wondered what exactly it was he saw these days. A “leech”, certainly – waxen skin, inhuman eyes, too sharp teeth. But not a dangerous beast anymore. McCullum hadn’t even called him that in months. Sometimes his gaze lingered on Jonathan, not in suspicion and calculation, but with that kind of slow, intrigued consideration Jonathan remembered so well from days when he’d still visited certain gentlemen’s clubs.

Jonathan quickly looked aside and stepped past him, his shoulder brushing against McCullum’s as he left the room.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, and didn’t have the slightest idea how to interpret the quiet “hm” McCullum made in reply.

It was easy enough to busy himself once the door was closed. He wouldn’t have minded a bath himself, but he could content himself with a quick wash over a basin, though it took quite a bit of scrubbing to get all the blood off his hands, his face, his beard. He briefly considered more comfortable clothes, but he didn’t want McCullum to be even more uneasy than he already had to be, so he put on a clean suit and only left off the jacket over his waistcoat, before rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. After a moment’s consideration he gathered some clean clothes for McCullum – they wouldn’t quite fit him right and he doubted it would be appreciated, but there was really no use putting his ruined, bloodied and far too thin clothes back on. He put them with his doctor’s bag and then sat down to stretch out his legs.

He thought it best to give McCullum some time to warm up, and himself some time to order his thoughts. Tonight had been – well, he couldn’t say it had been entirely unexpected. He would have preferred to go by himself. McCullum had many talents, but acting was not among them, least of all in a role that went so thoroughly against everything he believed in. Still, Jonathan wasn’t inclined to blame him for how the night had gone. Arlington had been a right bastard, and Jonathan by no means objected to killing him and his lot. Otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to help McCullum in the first place.

Nevertheless, there had been a certain thrill to it. To putting his hands on McCullum as if he had any right to it, to telling anyone else who even looked too long at him to back off. Primal, possessive, and really quite unworthy of him, though Jonathan wasn’t sure if he could blame his Ekon instincts for that. No, he was afraid he would have felt just the same before his transformation. McCullum wasn’t _his_ , wasn’t even his friend. And even if there were certain things between them that they both politely ignored, he doubted McCullum would appreciate Jonathan behaving in such a manner again.

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Things had been easier before the war. There had been certain rules and expectations for how things went between men of his inclinations – dalliances, some even quite fond, but it was always understood that they had no serious future. Most men did marry eventually, something Jonathan had never even seriously considered while quite happily citing his work as an excuse, and all those _friendships_ he’d shared with other men had ended sooner or later. Some amicably, some with a broken heart, but everyone had been very much in the clear about what they were.

McCullum wasn’t anything like the men Jonathan had known back then, and Jonathan himself had little desire these days to return to his place in polite society. Friendship, let alone more, required a certain amount of honesty that he couldn’t afford anymore. But he didn’t know what the rules were for desiring a man who’d tried to kill him, who’d then become his closest ally, and who was quite possibly the only person in the world Jonathan trusted entirely. Who knew him and all his secrets, and who was quite happy to spend time with him. Not that they socialised as such, no, but McCullum kept seeking him out. And he stayed longer every time, accepted a drink and then another after Reid had cleaned and bandaged his wounds, talked to him about a book he’d read or a Skal he’d hunted down. He always needed a pretence to come to Jonathan, but he seemed to enjoy himself once he was there. It was not always entirely pleasant, what with McCullum being more than a little prickly, but it was still the friendliest human interaction Jonathan had on most days, beside Avery.

He wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed when he decided he should go and check in on McCullum. It would hardly do to have him fall asleep and drown in the bathtub after everything they’d been through tonight. He picked up his things and went to knock on the bathroom door.

“McCullum? I brought you some clean clothes.” 

He was about to leave them by the door when McCullum’s muffled voice came through the door, “Just come in, Reid.”

For a moment he hesitated. It didn’t seem like the most prudent idea, but he couldn’t think of a very good reason to refuse. So he stepped inside, closed the door, and only then allowed himself to look. 

If he’d hoped McCullum would be done bathing, he’d been mistaken. He was still sprawled out in the tub, hot water up to his chest, his arms spread out over the edge of the tub. Even with the water covering most of him, Jonathan had never seen quite as much of his body – his arms often enough, when he’d bandaged bites and cuts, his calf on one occasion. Every time McCullum had at least been wearing an undershirt. When he tensed up – it seemed to be an instinctive reaction whenever Jonathan entered the room, though at least it didn’t last as long these days – the muscles on his shoulders and arms twitched, and it wasn’t because Jonathan could see the blood pulsing through his warm skin that he stared at the hollow between McCullum’s clavicles for a moment. The silver cross McCullum always wore was back around his neck. He must have kept it in his pocket all night when they’d been at Arlington’s manor, and Jonathan could imagine that not actually wearing it had been as uncomfortable for him as not covering his neck with a scarf.

McCullum stared back at him with something that wasn’t quite hostility, and Jonathan busied himself putting the clothes down without creasing them.

“I can come back when you’re dressed,” he said while putting down the doctor’s bag as well, already poised to leave again.

The last thing he expected was for McCullum to shrug with one shoulder and say, “You can just stitch me up here, right? You’re the one who always tells me I should get my wounds looked at immediately and not hours later.”

Jonathan had to bite back a smile. The one time McCullum decided to listen to him about being sensible. He grabbed the small stool and put it down next to the tub, and after another awkward glance at McCullum, he sat down beside him. If sharing this room with him had felt oddly intimate before, it certainly did so now. This close he could see every drop of water pearling over McCullum’s face, dripping down from his wet hair, sliding over the scratch on his neck. The bite on McCullum’s upper arm was large and nasty, though fortunately rather superficial. Work had always been the best thing to keep his mind from straying, and after dabbing the bath water off, Jonathan opened his doctor’s bag and started cleaning the wound.

“I must say I’m impressed you got away with nothing worse than this,” he said. He’d had a glance at the blood in McCullum’s body when they’d walked home, knowing that it pooled differently around injuries than under healthy skin. McCullum frowned, but he knew better than to ask Jonathan why he was so sure of that.

“None of them were all that powerful.” McCullum was watching him. Not his hands, like he had the first dozen times when Jonathan had stitched him up, as if he’d expected to be attacked and held down at any moment. No, his face, with a gaze so intent Jonathan could feel it on him even as he never lifted his eyes from the bite wound. McCullum added, “I may have had a little backup.”

Jonathan smiled as he pulled the thread through the needle, the movements comfortingly familiar in a way nothing else about this was. McCullum smelt so very good. He smelt good after a hunt, too, but right now there was nothing but the scent of Jonathan’s soap and that of his own body, so faint no human nose would have picked it up, just enough that it made Jonathan want to put his lips on every inch of his skin, and not only in places where the blood spilt from it.

“A little, yes.” McCullum’s skin was warm under his fingertips when Jonathan adjusted his arm to where he needed it. He felt the biceps twitch as McCullum tried to relax, and the sight actually kept Jonathan’s imagination busier than the scent of his blood did. “I’m quite relieved we got rid of them. As overzealous as you sometimes are, in this case you certainly did the city a favour.”

Before McCullum could gloat too much about _being right_ , Jonathan threaded the needle through his skin, his other hand holding McCullum’s arm still when he instinctively flinched away.

He finished the stitches in silence, and once he’d tied off the thread, he allowed himself to let his hands linger on McCullum’s arm. Cupped it with one hand, feeling the weight of his muscles under his fingertips, and gently stroking with his thumb along the edge of the bite. A quick glance at McCullum’s face revealed an all too familiar crease between his eyebrows, but he didn’t pull his arm away or snap at Jonathan to watch himself, and that was as close to an invitation as Jonathan thought he’d ever get.

“It won’t be a pretty scar,” he said, while letting his right hand slide down to McCullum’s forearm. There was an old bite scar there, quite similar in size to the fresh wound, though it had clearly been stitched up by someone far less skilled than Jonathan. “Still better than this one, though.”

“Good thing I’m not actually a leech’s pet who’s expected to be pretty, hm?” McCullum’s voice sounded quite relaxed, in a way it never had just a few months ago, not around Jonathan. He’d seen him once or twice with his men – smiling, laughing, cordial. Nothing like the constantly frowning man Jonathan knew. He cherished every glimpse he got at the person McCullum apparently was away from him. Once again it struck him just how badly he wanted McCullum – how much he longed for him in a way he hadn’t for anyone in many, many years. After all the trust McCullum had shown him tonight, Jonathan didn’t feel particularly careful just then.

“If you’re trying not to be attractive, I’m afraid you’re failing miserably,” he said.

Another shiver of tension went through McCullum’s body, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Jonathan. Maybe Jonathan had misjudged – maybe he shouldn’t have stepped over that unspoken line where they kept their deniability, where they looked at each other and maybe thought about each other and most certainly didn’t _do_ anything to each other. But McCullum still hadn’t moved, and after a few seconds had passed, he relaxed back into the tub, his arm going slack again under Jonathan’s hands. He leant back, so slowly that Jonathan could watch the muscles in his shoulders shift, and as he rested his head against the edge of the tub, he bared far more of his throat than Jonathan ever imagined he’d be comfortable with.

“I think you may have enjoyed our little performance a bit too much tonight, Reid.”

Still _Reid_ and not _leech_. Still baring his throat, that same scratch Jonathan’s nail had left on his skin mere hours ago, where he’d tasted him. All but kissed him, really.

“I may have enjoyed part of it, I admit. And not merely because of your blood.” 

McCullum’s arm was so warm under his hands, and when Jonathan shifted his grip a little further down, he could easily feel his strong pulse underneath the thin skin of his wrist. Steady, but a little faster than it had been mere minutes ago. Even when McCullum moved again, his arm stayed comfortably in Jonathan’s grasp. He sat up, water pooling down his broad chest, catching in the fine hairs. His skin was reddened from the heat and Jonathan all but ached with how much he wanted to splay his fingers over it. Feel the heat of him, the strength, feel those muscles tense up underneath him and then loosen as pleasure flooded through McCullum’s body.

Jonathan stayed carefully still when McCullum reached out for him with his free arm, warm fingers cupping Jonathan’s chin and then giving his beard the slightest pull, just like he had when they’d just arrived at the party. When he’d looked at Jonathan’s lips for a moment like he wanted to take their roles far more seriously. 

“Might not have been the only one,” McCullum mumbled, close enough that Jonathan felt his breath on his face. Whatever Jonathan had expected him to say, it had most certainly not been that. Anyone could have seen just how uncomfortable McCullum had been all night, and yet here he was, visibly relaxing even with Jonathan so close. He didn’t dare to say anything – didn’t know what he could have said that wouldn’t make McCullum push him away again the way he usually did whenever they got too close, whenever it seemed like one of them might be tempted to reach out and … 

McCullum tugged on Jonathan’s beard again and Jonathan let himself be dragged closer. Felt the warmth rising up from the bath, smelt the delicious scent of McCullum’s blood and his skin, saw the rippling of lean muscles in his shoulders. McCullum’s throat was still bare, the bloody scratch only making it look more pale, his pulse strong and powerful. There was that same stubborn intensity in his blue eyes that Jonathan had admired almost from the beginning, but for once he didn’t seem determined to start an fight. Jonathan thought McCullum might kiss him then, but he pulled him towards his neck instead. Towards that fresh, delicious scent oozing out of a barely closed wound, close enough that Jonathan could almost taste it. He tensed up.

“Is this some kind of test, Geoffrey?” He barely recognised his own voice – rough with desire, with an impatience that had taken him by surprise in its suddenness. _Months_ , and McCullum chose tonight to … to tease him? Or to finally give them both what they had so long pretended not to want?

“No.” The muscles and sinews in McCullum’s neck flexed, and he sounded like he was trying not to smile. “You keep passing my tests, leech, it’s really becoming a little pointless.”

His fingers moved from Jonathan’s chin to his cheek, threading through his beard, keeping him right there. So close to his neck. So close to all of him, naked and warm in the hot water. Then McCullum’s hand moved up to Jonathan’s hair, gripping it firmly and pulling him closer still.

“No more than you had earlier,” and this time there was a hint of a warning note in his voice, but without any concern or fear. Some tension, yes, but nothing more than that. Maybe McCullum wanted to prove something to himself, maybe he wanted to be reassured that Jonathan would stop even when they were alone. Maybe he really had enjoyed it, as hard as it had to be for him to admit it even to himself.

Jonathan closed his eyes and finally pressed his lips against the broken skin on Geoffrey’s neck. Even that first taste of blood send a shiver of pleasure throughout his entire body – he wasn’t as hungry now as he had been earlier tonight when he’d first tasted Geoffrey, not after draining several of the Ekons during their fight. But the lack of hunger made it all the easier to savour the taste, especially once McCullum failed to shove him away in disgust and Jonathan allowed himself to tongue at the wound until fresh blood welled out of it, filling Jonathan’s senses to the brim with just a few drops. McCullum’s fingers twitched in his hair, but he kept him close even as his heartbeat sped up, and when he breathed out – slow and deliberately measured – it still sounded almost like a moan.

But Jonathan still didn’t quite trust him that it hadn’t been a test, no matter that McCullum claimed otherwise, and so he obediently pulled away after indulging only for a few seconds. Kissed McCullum’s throat instead, the soft, unmarred skin there, when they both knew just how deeply McCullum had to trust him to allow it. And still he didn’t change his mind and push Jonathan away, and so Jonathan decided to stop fretting and touch him as much as he pleased. To put his free hand on McCullum’s bare chest, warm from the bath and deliciously strong, and so very sensitive when Jonathan brushed his thumb over one nipple and made him shudder.

It was a little awkward – leaning over him in the tub, his own fingers sliding into the water as he lowered his hand further down, McCullum’s injured arm still between them. For a brief moment Jonathan considered pulling away entirely and asking McCullum to come to bed with him, but he didn’t want to take his hands off him even for a moment. Didn’t want McCullum coming to his senses, as he’d no doubt see it, about letting a leech this close. Even a leech he’d allowed to drink his blood, a leech he’d trusted to watch his back while playing his pet, no matter how much of a disaster that had turned out to be.

“I hope you’re not getting any ideas,” McCullum suddenly said, and Jonathan looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“Geoffrey, I am getting a _lot_ of ideas when you’re letting me touch you like this.” 

To Jonathan’s surprise McCullum actually smiled back, for just a split second before he made himself stop again, but his expression remained uncharacteristically soft. At least uncharacteristic when Jonathan was with him.

“And you better not stop doing that,” McCullum demanded. He let go of Jonathan’s hair to cover his hand instead, pressing it against his stomach, only a few inches away from his cock. He was hard – Jonathan wouldn’t have been able to tell underneath the water and soap if he hadn’t been so aware of his blood flow. “But I’m not your _pet_ or your _property_ just because you get to feel me up while I’m bathing.”

Jonathan couldn’t bite back a chuckle.

“You would make the single worst pet in history. Difficult, disagreeable, and only just now allowing me to touch you at all.” Jonathan’s hand slid lower still, over the soft hair below McCullum’s navel. He looked flushed, though Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was because of the heat of the bath or because of what they were doing – and he hoped he’d have many more opportunities to find out what McCullum would look like stretched out on his bed instead, whether he’d be just as flushed then, caught between the sheets and Jonathan’s cool body.

“You make me sound like a particularly obnoxious cat,” McCullum said dryly. He shifted and put his injured arm back on the edge of the tub, his fingers idly brushing over Jonathan’s still clothed chest.

Jonathan didn’t think that comparison was entirely inept, but he doubted McCullum wanted to hear that. It didn’t matter either way, as far as he was concerned. He cupped McCullum’s cheek, felt the minute, barely noticeable movement of McCullum leaning into his touch. There was already a hint of stubble again, but it was still far smoother than Jonathan had ever seen it before.

“If I wanted a pet rather than an equal, I’d – well, I suppose I’d frequent the kind of parties we went to tonight instead of helping you kill all the guests,” he said. In truth, the whole affair had disgusted him from the start. The casual dismissiveness with which those Ekons had treated their human companions, the disdain, the superiority. Life had no value to them, when Jonathan had devoted his life to saving as many people as he could. Oh, he’d killed – during the war because he’d had no choice, and afterwards because some people needed to be stopped, but he’d never done it lightly. He’d never done it with such indifference, he’d never done it _for fun_. And he thought, after all these months of watchful observation turned into some form of companionship, that McCullum finally knew that as well.

“And then I’d have to find a way to kill you,” McCullum said, again with that one-sided shrug Jonathan found oddly charming. He still hadn’t thanked Jonathan for his help tonight, but as always, Jonathan didn’t truly need him to. Not when McCullum had so many other ways of quietly admitting just how much closer they’d become. Like the way he inclined his head now, just so until his forehead brushed against Jonathan’s for a brief moment, while his hand pushed Jonathan’s further down towards his cock.

“You might regret this,” Jonathan mumbled into the warm air between their lips, even as his fingers finally brushed over McCullum’s cock. He _was_ hard, and clearly quite worked up judging by the way the touch immediately made him twitch and gasp. Again a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and this time he either forgot or didn’t care to stop himself. He leant back again, the back of his head coming to rest on the edge of the tub once more, sprawled out like – like a feast, really, and that was one thought Jonathan would most certainly not share with him.

“I will most certainly regret this,” McCullum said, sounding like a man who didn’t have a single regret in the world.

“Why do it then, if you’re already so sure of that?” Jonathan closed the distance between them again, let his lips brush over McCullum’s jaw and, when that didn’t even earn him a frown or a glare, over the side of his neck again. He was beautiful like this, really – not just handsome, but beautiful. Far more so, to Jonathan’s eye, than those flawless, pretty youths those other Ekons had surrounded themselves with. And it wasn’t that he “liked them rough”, as he had claimed earlier tonight; it was simply McCullum himself who made him all but desperate with want, as frustrating and irritating and stubborn as the man was.

“I did something else tonight that I knew I’d regret, but it still got me what I wanted in the end,” McCullum said, as if their failed attempt at subtlety tonight was any kind of good reason for finally sleeping with Jonathan. But Jonathan was starting to think that all they’d both been looking for in the past months had been an excuse, one last moment of tension to push them past their doubts and concerns.

“And what is it you want now, Geoffrey?” Jonathan mumbled against his skin – he didn’t expect a reply, certainly didn’t need one, but he liked the way his voice made McCullum’s twitch in his hand, the way it made his pulse quicken even more under Jonathan’s lips. McCullum’s hand had gripped Jonathan’s wrist now, fingers digging into his flesh when Jonathan started stroking him under the water. He adjusted his view so he could see him better – the swell of his blood in his cock, how it pulsed through it when Jonathan tightened his grip. He wanted to taste him in more ways than one, and since McCullum would most certainly not allow that, it was probably for the best that their current position removed the temptation.

McCullum’s lips finally parted in a deep moan as he relaxed entirely into the water, his arms splayed wide and his throat bared, displaying a vulnerability he seemed too far gone to be aware of right now, but not too long ago he never would have allowed himself to end up in this position. His only movement, beside the maddening rush of his blood in his veins, was a slight jerking of his hips to meet Jonathan’s strokes. Already Jonathan felt all but drunk on him and he couldn’t have said if it was the taste and scent of his blood or merely being allowed to touch him, but either way he could not quite hold back, could not deny himself either when he felt McCullum falling apart underneath his hand. So he licked over McCullum’s neck again, teasing another few drops of blood out of that little wound as his thumb brushed over the tip of McCullum’s cock – maybe that was what made McCullum moan again, maybe it was both, because he grabbed a fistful of Jonathan’s hair again and kept him right there as he fucked up into his fist. Jonathan’s fangs ached with an almost irresistible urge to bite down, to take more than than what little he’d been offered, and he could only restrain himself because he knew that McCullum would most certainly never forgive him for that. But even lapping at the wound was good enough to make his cock ache in his trousers, desperate for a touch he hoped McCullum wouldn’t deny him.

McCullum was still smiling when he came, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, his fingers combing somewhat awkwardly through Jonathan’s hair. He even met Jonathan’s eyes once Jonathan raised his head again, his own expression full of deep satisfaction and, at least for now, not a hint of regret.

“Come to bed with me,” Jonathan said, while McCullum still seemed so agreeable. He might end up _very_ cross with him if McCullum simply walked out on him after this. But for now McCullum remained relaxed when Jonathan’s hand went up the same way it had come down, slowly stroking over his stomach, then his chest. Allowed himself to be touched, caressed even, his forehead once again coming to rest against Jonathan’s.

He didn’t say yes, any more than he’d said thank you at any point tonight. But Jonathan didn’t need him to, not when they’d learnt to understand each other quite well without any of the niceties of normal human interaction.

Once again McCullum’s fingers went for his beard, pulling him close. Maybe the third time would be the charm and Jonatahn would finally feel McCullum’s lips on his own. This time, instead of waiting for it to happen, he leant in and – was stopped by McCullum pressing two fingers firmly against his chin. He was frowning again.

“Tell me you washed the leech blood out of your mouth when you got back,” he growled, as if that thought had only just occurred to him.

Jonathan couldn’t help but laugh at that. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand McCullum’s concerns, but his tone still had been so – irritable. As if he hadn’t been about to kiss the _leech_ he was snapping at now. Or as if it would have been a personal insult to him if Jonathan had forgotten to do just that. Jonathan bent his neck slightly so he could kiss McCullum’s fingertips.

“I did. Thoroughly,” he said, and halfway through the last word McCullum had already yanked him closer by his beard and kissed him. Their kiss still tasted of blood – of McCullum’s own blood on Jonathan’s lips, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He kissed Jonathan like a man possessed, and Jonathan briefly worried if it had really been necessary for them to go through all the trouble of tonight to finally admit just how badly they wanted this.

It hardly mattered now. They’d achieved what they had set out to do, and now they were both getting the one thing Jonathan had already resigned himself to never actually having, no matter how often McCullum looked at him like a – like a starved beast, really. So even if absolutely nothing had gone according to plan, Jonathan was still inclined to agree with McCullum – they should consider this night a success.

**Author's Note:**

> "Undercover together; it ends in a bloodbath because they suck at it" was such an amazing prompt and definitely something that needed to exist. :D Hope you enjoyed!


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